


Long Day

by coolasdicks



Series: Mindless [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blood, Gen, Self-Harm, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Michael barely got away with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Day

“I don’t know what you like about this site, Michael,” Gavin said doubtfully. “It’s so depressing.”

Michael glanced at the brunette’s screen. Gavin was perusing his newly created Tumblr account, screenshots of sad sayings and quotes of John Green filling his dash. Michael tsked and wheeled his chair closer, knowing the mouse from the Brit’s grip and taking control.

“That’s because you’re not following anyone yet,” Michael explained. “I’ll hook you up.”

He called to memory some of his favorite bloggers and followed them, but added a few extras to the mix, letting Gavin have his mouse back with a grin. “There, should be good.”

“Thanks, Mich – BLOODY HELL,” Gavin screeched, reeling back in his chair in shock. Michael burst into laughter at the flush sprouting on the Brit’s cheeks and leaned back to get a good view.

Enlarged by the big screen of the Mac, a GIF of two guys having anal sex was repeatedly playing. It was part of a photoset that continued down the page, getting more and raunchier as it went. It was a cruel joke to play on Gavin, sure, but it was worth the look on his face when the others scooted over in their chairs to see what was frightening the poor boy.

“Oh, hoh,” Jack chuckled, not at all phased by the inappropriate images. He clapped Gavin on the back. “Naughty boy.”

“At work?” Ray questioned with a smirk. “That’s kinky.”

“Didn’t know you were into that, Gav,” Geoff said, looking thoughtful. He pointed to the third GIF, one of four men teasing another with a feather duster. “We’ll have to try that out sometime.”

“No, no, no, no,” Gavin repeated in a mantra as he clicked around, squealing in dismay as he went further into his dash only to find more and more porn. He gave up and turned to Michael, looking furious. The redhead was still trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard. “What the hell did you do?”

“I believe he ‘hooked you up’,” Ray said helpfully.

“I’ll hook you up,” Gavin threatened, pointing an accusing finger at Michael. “Did you follow all of the porn bloggers on this bloody website?”

“The most I could find,” Michael giggled.

Gavin opened his mouth to say something presumably scathing and angry, but Michael could see a thought dawn on him first. An annoying smirk curled his lips, instantly wiping Michael’s laughter off the table.

“I see you pick from the best,” Gavin murmured after turning back to his computer. He looked at some of the pictures of his dash for a few seconds. “Probably the ones you already follow.”

“I don’t follow porn blogs,” Michael told him.

“Ah. Of course. You just magically found these.”

“No, you go in the tags –”

“Maybe it was a plea for help,” Geoff said from across the room. He was leaning back in his, fingers steeped thoughtfully in front of him as he eyed Michael. “What are the images like? Maybe he’s trying to tell you he’s not satisfied with your performance in bed and wants to do more.”

Michael flushed. “Absolutely n–”

“I don’t know, there sure is a lot of bondage,” Gavin said dubiously, sending Geoff a grin. “That’s pretty kinky.”

“I’m not –”

“Oh, look at this one, Geoff! He’s holding a cockring,” Gavin snickered, gesturing for tattooed man to come closer. They both laughed themselves stupid as they went through Gavin’s newly decorated dash, Michael rolling his eyes and turning back to his own computer. He had editing to do.

Eventually Geoff drifted back to his own work, but Gavin was on Tumblr for what felt like the rest of the day. Michael looked over a few times, watching with a smug smile as Gavin went through and unfollowed the porn users. He went through a few tags and followed some random people, until stumbling across something that must’ve piqued his interest, because he straightened in his chair a little and cocked his head.

Gavin gave his screen a weird look. “Why do people do this to themselves?” he asked tiredly. Michael glanced over and froze, blood seeming to literally ice up in his body.

It was a picture of two wrists being held next to each other, words scrawled across the top but unimportant to Michael. The wrist on the left was completely clean, while the right was marred with enticing white scars and red, angry open wounds. There was a small drop of blood peaking out of the corner of one, looking like it was about to spill over.

“That’s nuts, dude,” Ray said next to Michael’s ear, making the redhead startle. He’d wheeled over to get a look at what Gavin was talking about. “People gotta be sick to do that.”

“Sick and selfish,” Gavin added, making a disgusted noise. He scrolled past the picture, but the image was already burned into Michael’s mind. “How could you do that to the people around you? So crazy.”

Michael swallowed thickly, eyes straight forward and unseeing. His skin crawled and itched, the small scar that sat high on his waist burning with the memory of taking a blade to his flesh.

_Sick._

_Selfish._

_Crazy._

Was Michael those things? Was he sick? Maybe – he wasn’t the strongest. Was he selfish? Yeah… pretty selfish. Crazy?

It was thirty minutes later that everyone started packing up to go home. He’d previously planned to go home with Geoff tonight, but suddenly the thought send his stomach shriveling in on itself. Did Geoff think he was mentally ill? Greedy? Nuts?

“Are you coming, Michael?” Jack asked him, hand on his shoulder. Michael glanced up at him, seeing that all the guys had already packed up and were standing by the door, waiting expectantly for him to get a move on.

“Uh – no, my render failed so I gotta reupload,” Michael lied. He’d barely touched his unedited video.

“You can do it tomorrow,” Geoff said, lightly kicking his chair. He had his backpack slung over his shoulder. “C’mon.”

“I wanna finish it tonight so I can  _upload_ tomorrow,” Michael ground out, his heartbeat loud in his ears. His palms felt sweaty.

“Fine,” Geoff said sullenly. “We’ll just have fun without you.”

Geoff stuck a tongue out at him as he herded the rest of the boys out of the office. Michael’s chest felt empty at his words. They  _would_ have fun without him. Probably more fun than they would’ve had with him.

_Sick._

_Selfish._

_Crazy._

Maybe.

—-

Michael woke up feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of sawdust. His eyes were gritty and almost crawled back into his head when he opened them to the harsh light coming in through the Achievement Hunter windows.

The muscles in his back were tight and bunched up from having slept on the couch. He stretched them and heard a few satisfying pops, but frowned at the headache pounding behind his eyes.

He blinked a few times, his brain sluggish in its attempt to drudge up some actual thoughts.

“Did I sleep here last night?” he murmured to himself, hand running across the patchy fabric in thought. He was a little shocked to find that his memory was failing him, spinning brain unable to conjure up any useful information. He remembered going to work yesterday, but feeling sad as the day went on.

He stood up, an odd crinkling sound and stiffness in the texture of his waistband. Looking down, his eyes widened at the large red stain that had encrusted the upper portion of his jeans, the material toughened and rigid. It was tight against the pads of his fingers as he ran them over the large blotch.

It took his foggy mind far too long to realize what it was, and even longer to register the pain in his hip. Almost in a panic, he yanked down the waist of his pants, breath hitching at the sight of criss-crossed ribbons of dull maroon that traced up his right side, the patchwork having no pattern or organization. Just chaos and disarray, muddled and frenzied. There was a layer of dried blood over his entire abdomen.

He made a surprised yelp when the door to the office opened, tugging his pants up and smoothing down the front of his shirt over the stain as best he could. It was Ryan, holding an entire carton of six beverages in one hand and a scarf in the other. His cheeks were pink from the chill outside and he looked annoyed.

“Morning,” Michael said a little too fast, watching the older man place the carton on Gavin’s desk.

Ryan unraveled the dark blue scarf from around his neck, eyes narrowed at Michael. “And where the hell were you last night?”

Michael grimaced. Ryan wasn’t one to make accusations, which must’ve meant he already knew that Michael hadn’t gone home with anyone. “Maybe I slept at my own place for once,” Michael said defensively.

“Then why are you wearing yesterday’s clothes?”

“Because I like them,” Michael said stubbornly, refusing to admit he’d been caught. He looked at the hot drinks. “Who’s that coffee for?” he hedged, looking hopefully up at Ryan, who was frowning.

He sighed. “You, if you tell us where you’re going next time,” he relented, plucking a cup from the carton and placing it in Michael’s hands, not letting go and instead leaning closer, his lips brushing against the lobe of Michael’s ear. “We missed you last night.”

Michael shivered. “I’m sure you did,” he said hollowly, his laugh falling a little flat. He could feel Ryan pull away, suddenly all business.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

“Got a headache,” Michael said honestly.

“I’ll get you an Aspirin,” Ryan said firmly, warm hands sliding out from under Michael’s. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael watched him leave with a thick throat, swallowing suddenly very difficult. He never lied to his companions, but the stinging on his waist reminded him of what a fucking failure he was. He couldn’t let them know that.

He sat down at his desk, wishing he had a clean pair of pants to wear. His shirt was black, which luckily hid the red smears probably marking their way up his side too, but the denim did him no such favors.

“Michael!” a dramatic voice called. He barely had time to glance at the doorway when a flurry of energy slammed into him, grounding his elbow into the armrest of his chair. He recognized the smell of hair product.

“Mornin’, Gav,” Michael said into the brunette’s chest.

Gavin pulled back with a smile, seemingly unaware of the rather downtrodden expression on Michael’s face. Gav was always a little thick like that. Michael caught sight of the rest of the boys, save for Ray and Ryan, piling into the small office.

Of course Geoff was the one to instantly sniff out something. Always the guardian. Always the protector.

“You feeling okay, Michael?” Geoff asked, sounding a little sarcastic. But when Michael looked at him, he could see the concern swirling around in the molten, ashy orbs. Geoff was picking him apart with just his eyes, making the redhead squirm in his chair. The cuts on his hip were on fire.

“Fell asleep here,” Michael said in a useless attempt to sidestep the direct question. Geoff definitely noticed, but said nothing.

“Why?” Jack asked curiously. “That must’ve been uncomfortable. We have the guest bedroom still, you know.”

Michael laughed, knowing that he hadn’t stayed with Jack in a little while. Sometimes the bear was a little too perceptive, like Geoff. If Michael wanted to be worry-free about his unhealthy habits, then he’d spend his time with Gavin, who was unabashedly oblivious.

“Yeah, I know,” Michael said, turning his computer monitor on. “I wasn’t paying attention to the time. We up for bevs tonight?”

The offer seemed to soothe Geoff’s ruffled feathers. “Yeah, we are,” Geoff answered for everyone, sounding determined. Michael felt a little sick at the paranoid glances the tattooed man was shooting at him.

“Here you go, love,” Ryan said fondly when he entered the room, dropping two little liquid gel pills in Michael’s hand. Gavin looked at the two of them with confusion.

“Do you not feel well?” he asked, eyes following the movement of Michael’s throat as he downed the medicine.

“Sleeping on the couch doesn’t exactly do my neck any favors,” Michael said easily, washing them down further with the glass of water Ryan handed him. “Thanks, Rye-bread.”

He nodded and wordlessly ran a hand through Michael’s messy hair before leaving to his own office in the warehouse. Ray came trailing in a little while later, looking a few shades of rough. He plunked down at his desk with a heavy groan.

“What’s up with you?” Michael said in lieu of a greeting.

The brunette turned accusing eyes on Michael. “Geoff plays a little too rough with the rest of us when his punching bag isn’t there, you know,” Ray said bluntly. Michael’s face flared up at the suggestive words. “Think about that next time you decide to skip out.”

Michael silently turned back to his computer, uncomfortably aware that Geoff was staring a hole into the back of his head. Damn him.

The day was spent in agony. Trying his best to push the bad thoughts away just long enough for him to escape the scrutinizing gazes of his lovers, who  _had_ to be aware that something was up. His audio track was noticeably a little empty, his reactions slowed because his mind just wasn’t in the game.

He had to be careful not to stand up, too, which was hard it in its own right. He kept Ray’s hoodie bundled up in his lap to hide the dried stain and didn’t get up and move around like he normally would, instead glaring gloomily at his monitor as he half-heartedly edited this week’s Rage Quit. On the plus side, his productivity boosted, and he was done with not only Rage Quit, but with next Wednesday’s Let’s Play as well.

He made only one mistake, and it ruined everything.

He’d turned a little too sharply in his chair, a searing pain ripping up the side of his torso as soon as he did, and he had to bite down on his lower lip to capture the pained yelp. As it was, he squeaked a little, and Gavin, who he’d been playing a short game of footsie with, stopped immediately.

“Did I step on you or something?” Gavin asked, probably noticing Michael’s watering eyes.

“No, you, ah… kicked a bruise,” Michael invented wildly, rubbing at an imaginary spot on his leg that he wasn’t even sure Gavin had hit. Bending down wasn’t such a hot idea – he could feel something warm and wet on his hip, the skin sliding together. Bursts of stinging pain made his eyes tear up even further until a drop of moisture actually fell. He wiped it away hastily, ignoring the look Gavin was giving him.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Gavin said, sounding bewildered. Michael couldn’t blame him. Michael barely ever shed a tear, and never out of pain.

“It’s fine, Gav,” Michael said, rolling his watery eyes.

“Want me to kiss it better?” Gavin said lecherously, reaching his arms out to grab at Michael, who wheeled his chair back in a hurry.

“Let me stop bawling first,” Michael joked, but his voice wavered. Gavin didn’t notice.

“I’ll just kiss your cry-baby tears away,” Gavin persisted, rolling his chair closer to Michael’s.

Michael backed up until he hit Ray, seats bouncing off each other.

“What, is Michael afraid to have his boo-boos kissed?” Ray said, playfully pushing Michael back towards Gavin.

Michael laughed nervously, feeling his control of the situation slip away. “Only if he kisses my ass first.”

“Can do,” Gavin promised, lunging forward to plant himself in Michael’s lap. He gasped, a pained, tight sound, but Gavin mistook it for one of simple surprise and hugged him, squishing his cheek up against Michael’s.

“Get off,” Michael said hoarsely, pushing at Gav’s chest. “You’re flattening me.”

Gavin just squeezed him, licking a wet stripe up the side of Michael’s face.

“Gross,” Michael complained, trying to put in the effort of actual shoving Gavin away, but his arms didn’t seem to be listening. His voice was breathy with misery, the burning sensation of Gavin’s weight digging into the lacework on his hip dragging the air from his lungs and leaving him dizzy and nauseous. “Get off, you big idiot.”

Gavin grumbled but eventually climbed off, looking disappointed. Michael laughed – well, wheezed – at his disgruntled expression and scooted back to his computer, glancing down and his heart began to hammer. Ray’s blue hoodie was now partially saturated with blood, the warm liquid slowly soaking into the soft material as he bled from his small wounds, which must’ve split open with the sudden movement of Michael twisting. He shoved the jacket further into his lap, hoping to discard the piece of bloodied clothing into the nearest trash bin as soon as he could. He’d apologize to Ray for losing it later and buy him a new hoodie.

He spent the next few minutes holding his breath. Gavin had yet to sit back down and was now bugging Jack, laying across the bearded man’s lap and kicking his feet up on the desk, completely blocking Jack from working on his computer. Michael could see a small spot of blood on the back of Gav’s t-shirt, a product of sitting on the soddy jacket. It was tiny, but noticeable on his light orange  _Tease It_ shirt. Michael sat frozen with his fingers crossed, praying to the high heavens that nobody saw it.

“What’s wrong with you, man?”

Michael turned to see Ray staring at him, concern etched into his face. “What?” Michael asked dumbly. “Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“Because I’ve had to ask you that question like four times,” Ray said, crossing his arms. “I know you’re blind, but you aren’t deaf.”

“Sorry,” Michael muttered, kneading the palm of his hand further into the array of cuts on his hips. It stung, but it helped tether his floating head back onto his body. “It’d been a long day.”

Ray glanced at the time on his computer before looking over his shoulder at Geoff, who was and probably had been watching the two of them closely. Geoff looked surprised to see their attention turned on him.

Ray and Geoff shared a silent conversation, simply with looks. For as long as Michael had known his lovers and been in a successful relationship with them, he had never been able to quite pull off this feat. Maybe he just wasn’t as in tune with his partners as they were with each other. The thought depressed him.

“It’s about time to head home, guys,” Geoff announced with a frown.

“No, it’s not,” Jack said, confused. “It’s only four?”

“Let’s go,” Geoff said, plainly ignoring the bearded man’s words. “We can go to the bar and get bevs – have a fun night out.”

Michael stuttered out a shaky breath. “I’m not really feeling that up to it,” he said quietly, hating the waver in his voice, but hating the look Geoff had on his face more. “I’ll probably head back to my own place, actually.”

“You haven’t been out with us as much lately,” Gavin said, frowning heavily. “You’re not angry or anything with us, are you?”

Michael gave an empty laugh, Gavin looking unhappy with that answer. “I’m not angry with you idiots,” Michael explained further. “If I had an issue with one of you, I’d punch it out. Don’t you know me at all?”

The looks they shared with one another told Michael maybe they knew him  _too_ much. He was starting to worry them.

Time to go.

“I have a headache,” Michael said loudly, bundling up Ray’s hoodie in his hands. The clean-ish side facing up, he stood up, making careful work shuffling to the door. “And a stomach ache,” he said awkwardly to the odd looks he was being sent. Opening the door, he slid out into the hallway.

“Real fucking smooth, Michael,” he scolded himself as he waddled his way to the bathroom, passing Miles on his way and giving a curt nod.

“Fuck,” he cursed into the bathroom mirror. Ray’s jacket was utterly ruined, but so was his skin. The area around the cuts was red and puffy, looking seriously like bad news. His black shirt was stiff and smelled strongly of copper, though it was still managing to soak up a lot of the red liquid and be covert about it. His jeans? Not so much.

“I’ll just leave,” Michael decided as he took a wet paper towel to his bare skin. He sucked in a sharp breath and gave up almost immediately. Definitely not worth it right now.

His eyes lit up with an idea as he stared at his reflection. “If I get some clothes from the warehouse,” he said slowly, a smile curling his lips. “Then I can still go out for drinks. Then Geoff will stop giving me the fucking evil eye every time I look at him.”

Good plan. In fact, he was a little proud of himself as he flushed the empty toilet, the idea rather ingenious in his opinion.

He crept into the dark warehouse, the whirring of computers running at Monty’s desk, but the blacked-haired man was no where in sight. Michael slipped a fresh pair of jeans from the clothes rack that sat behind the dancer’s miniature battle station, the extra clothes kept stocked due to the heavy workload that accompanied his job. They were a little loose on him – probably Miles’. The cuts were still open and sluggishly smearing blood all over the place, but at least they were no longer weeping down his pants leg. He chucked Ray’s sweatshirt and his jeans – one of his favorite pairs, dammit – into the trash bin.

“What are you doing?”

“Ryan!” Michael said, starting lightly at the loud voice of the blonde.

He was leaning against the wall next to Monty’s desk, watching the redhead with sharp eyes. “What are you doing?” he repeated.

“Well, I thought we were going out for bevs,” Michael said uneasily. This day was really sucking for him. To be fair, he should’ve known Ryan would still be hanging around his desk. The guy liked to work. “I was getting a fresh pair of pants.”

“What was wrong with yours?”

“I slept in them, remember? Figured if we were going out, I shouldn’t smell like underwear,” Michael said, thinking quickly. He was actually a little proud at that lie, even if he felt bad about being untruthful. After he got cleaned up, he wouldn’t have to lie anymore, so a few more wouldn’t hurt.

Ryan seemed to accept that explanation, weird as it was. He shrugged and pushed off from the wall. “Are you going to change your shirt, too?”

“Right,” Michael murmured, pulling a Mark Nutt merch shirt from the hanger. He glanced at Ryan, who was watching him change. “Do you mind?”

Ryan laughed, thinking Michael was saying it jokingly. The redhead scowled, but turned around to discreetly hide his large patch of cuts and scratches, pulling the red shirt over his head and tugging it down, pleased to find that it fit him a little big. He could pull it over his waistline with an extra few inches to boot.

“We don’t have to go to the bar tonight,” Ryan said softly when Michael bumped shoulders. He was looking down at the younger man with sympathy. “You don’t look up for it.”

“Eh, you know,” Michael said dismissively.

“Ah, so you were sneaking off with Ryan!” Gavin’s voice cried. Michael squinted through the dimly lit warehouse to see the Brit lurking in the door. He could hear the rest of the guys talking in the hallway, most likely ready to go.

“Shut up,” Michael said, rolling his eyes.

Gavin appraised his new outfit. “I thought you said you weren’t going out with us?” he asked, clearly confused.

Michael could literally feel his dumb lies unraveling at the seams as Ryan looked down at him. “Changed my mind,” Michael said evasively, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“Oh,” Gavin said with a frown. “Well, are you ready to go?”

“Yep,” Michael said, relieved. He moved away from Ryan. “Are you coming, Rye-bread?”

Ryan hesitated. “Yeah,” he said, “Let me just grab my coat. It’s freezing outside.”

Ray poked his head around the corner. “Has anyone seen my jacket?”

Michael joined the rest in a chorus of no’s, feeling guilty but relieved that the Puerto Rican didn’t remember that Michael had asked to borrow it earlier that day, didn’t know that Michael would be using it for the better part of an hour to staunch a blood flow that he’d caused himself. As Ryan reached over his desk to grab his coat off the chair, the redhead wondered what would happen to him if they found out.

Probably a break-up. They’d admit him to a psychiatric hospital, have him on suicide watch, where he couldn’t even fucking piss on his own because he might drown himself in the toilet water.

Michael wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t want to die. In fact, that’s what he was fighting against. They wouldn’t understand that. He wasn’t trying to end his life – he was trying to save his mind.

Ryan’s gentle hand on the small of his back made him jump. He allowed the blonde to lead him out of the warehouse and into the hallway, where the rest of the gang was milling around, chattering excitedly. Michael was sure how to feel about the fact that they were completely unaware of the bubbling turmoil happening in his mind. It was stupid; he fought long and hard all day to make sure none knew the wiser, but his heart ached for someone to just hold him and tell him it would be alright.

“Alright, lads, let’s go,” Geoff said upon catching sight of Ryan and Michael. He herded the boys through the building until out into the back parking lot. As soon as he walked through the door, a blast of cold wind smacked him in the face. Goosebumps rose all over his skin and he instantly began to shiver.

Geoff’s van was bought when they made their relationship official, big enough to fit all of them comfortably with one spot to spare in the very back. Two up front, two middle, and three seats in the back made for a comfy ride.

There was a hierarchy of who sits where. As he took his designated seat, Michael was never more thankful to be sitting in the middle row of seats, separated from anyone far enough that he didn’t have to worry about being elbowed or kneed in the hip. Geoff drove, Jack rode shotgun, Ryan and Michael got the middle seats, and Ray and Gav were left to duke it out in the back row, fighting over who gets the seat next to the only working AC/Heating unit back there.

Michael sat shivering in his seat during the ride home, his lower lip caught between his chattering teeth to prevent the others from noticing his discomfort. Jack and Geoff bickered in the front seat about who was the designated driver for the evening and whether or not they were staying over at Geoff’s house overnight.

He felt something nudge his foot and looked over at Ryan, who was leaning towards him slightly. “Hm?” he hummed with half-lidded eyes.

Ryan tired to keep his voice down, Michael could tell, but for being the only smart person in the van, he dumb to ask in front of everyone else. “What’s been up with you today? You’ve been damn near speechless all day.”

Jack and Geoff quieted down to listen to Michael make up yet another lying excuse. He mentally added it to the list before realizing that all the bullet points would eventually turn into scars on his hip. He shook his head out of the thought. “What, you never have a weird day?” Michael challenged.

Ryan looked disappointed as he sat back in his chair. “I have,” he said into the silence of the car. The radio wasn’t playing. “I guess it’s just weird for you to have them, Michael. That’s all I’m saying.”

 _Sorry, Ryan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being so sick, so selfish, so crazy._   _I’m so fucking sorry, I can feel it bleeding from my body._

“Okay,” was all Michael could force out. He turned to the window, regretfully allowing the car to descend into an uncomfortable silence, none of the boys quite sure how to approach the redhead. Michael knew what was holding them back – he was  _Michael._ Loud, abrasive, angry Michael. They didn’t know sick, selfish, nutty Michael. Hurting, crying, quiet Michael.

They arrived at the bar ten minutes later. Michael fled from the car and into the pub as quickly as he could, not looking at his lovers faces as he slipped into the crowd.

He got to the bathroom in time to duck into a stall and throw up into the toilet. He hadn’t eaten much today, but the watery bile was gross in its own right. At least it curbed the nausea in his stomach. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he flushed the toilet and looked in the mirror, glad he’d picked the handicapped stall as he tugged up the bottom of his shirt. He grimaced.

It looked infected. Michael touched the skin, feeling the heat rolling off from the collection of open wounds. They were no longer bleeding, thank fucking  _Christ,_ and were scabbed over lightly. He yanked the shirt back down to cover the sight as if it offended him.

He was really losing his shit today. His mind seemed to have left the building. While clutching the edges of sink, he had to chant a firm reminder to himself that he couldn’t be caught, he couldn’t be seen like this. He had to let the cuts heal and fade – his pale skin easily hid the white scars, to his advantage. And then, he vowed, he wouldn’t do so much damage all at once ever again. A repeat performance might actually hurt his health, or even worse – arouse suspicion. He couldn’t stand the thought of being caught.

He washed his face a few times with cold water, bringing a light flush to his cheeks and making him look a little more alive. No wonder everyone was so worried – all the color was drained out of his face, dark circles making his eyes look sunken in. Alcohol would probably help with his color, and his pain.

He crept out of the bathroom and to the far end of the bar, where he leaned against the wall and kept a careful eye out for any familiar faces. Mindlessly ordering a rather strong drink, he sunk low in his seat when he saw Ray and Jack on the other end of the bar leaning across the wooden table to order drinks. They had to yell over the loud music being played, looking hopeful when the bartender left to make their requests.

Someone slid into the barstool next to him. Michael glanced at her, internally groaning when he saw the green eyes of a blonde women looking at him. She had her body angled towards his, tapping her nails on the bar next to his hand. Fairly sure that she was interested, Michael tried to subtly tip her off that  _noo, I’m here with five other guys, please leave._

“You look a little haunty,” she said to him suddenly.

“What?” Michael said, looking at her. She was smiling sweetly. He wondered what she saw in his eyes. “Sorry, I’m here with someone,” he said in the friendliest voice he could muster.

“Oh,” she said, looking disappointed. “Figures,” she laughed, sipping her drink. “The cute ones are always taken.”

“Sorry,” Michael said awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. The bartender dropped his drink off and he lunged at it, taking a big swig.

“Why’re you sitting here alone, then?” the woman questioned, cocking a dainty eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Michael confessed. Why  _was_ he sitting alone?

She patted him on the back as she stood from her chair. “You should have company, but your girlfriend would be a better companion than a stranger. Take care, love.”

Michael watched her leave.  _She was nice,_ he thought faintly, taking a long drag from his drink. Her bright blonde hair disappeared into the crowd of swaying bodies as the bar-goers mingled. It was crowded in here tonight.

About four strong drinks later, and Michael was forgetting all about the pain in his hip. Painfully slow, he was able to start to breathe easier, the words coming out cheerier, his thoughts clearing. His head pounded with the beat of the music played over the speakers, but he had a sloppy grin on his face.

Colors and sound blurred into one big blob of white noise. He sat alone, he sat with strangers, but he never remembered seeing his lovers. He unfortunately remembered someone kissing him, but he pushed them away quickly, uncomfortable with that even in his drunken state. He suddenly couldn’t remember what had even brought him to the bar, but he was glad he was here. His head was floating up along the ceiling somewhere.

He came back down, hard.

Someone was holding his hair as he upchucked his insides into a toilet bowl, the alcohol swimming in his system lessening and allowing reality to abruptly slam into him. He coughed through the sick, trying to clear his throat to embarrassingly cry out for one of his boyfriends, fear and hatred for himself drilling a hole through his temples. His eyes blurred with tears of pain from the agony pulsating at his hip and throbbing in his head. He felt worse than ever.

“Shh, shh,” hummed a gentle voice in his ear. Michael’s heart tightened when he couldn’t recognize it. He wasn’t sure who it was, or if he even knew them. “It’s fine, you’re okay.”

Michael gasped and hyperventilated through the vomit, clutching with trembling fingers at the porcelain bowl. His nose stung and burned, throat scratchy and hoarse when he blubbered out nonsensical words, mostly pleas and sobs and broken sentences about how bad he messed up, how fucking sorry he was, how stupid he’s been. He isn’t sure that it makes any possible sense to whoever is petting his hair and holding his waist, but it feels better to get it all out.

“Shh,” the voice said calmingly, a warm hand rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re fine, Michael. Just breathe through your nose, c’mon.”

Michael struggled to obey whoever it was – someone he knew, most likely. They spoke to him in a comforting murmur, just loud enough so that he could hear the words over his loud hacking. He coughed, sucking in a rattling breath through his mouth before forcing the exhale to be through his nose, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He had to admit – it did help. He could finally take a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air and letting out another shuddery exhale through his nose.

“There,” the voice cooed approvingly, patting his shoulder. “There we go, Michael. Breathe out… slowly… and in. And again. Good boy, there we go.”

Michael blinked through his anguished tears, wincing at the pain in his hip. He clutched the throbbing spot with both hands, leaning his cheek against the cool seat. The hand on his back was massaging soothing circles into his tensed muscles, a warm body pressed into his side where they were crouched next to him as he sat on the floor.

They pried his hands away from his side, holding them in a warm, firm grasp. “Michael,” the voice said, and Michael recognized the voice as Ray’s. It was his mother hen tone. “Think you can stand?”

Michael breathed heavily into the bowl for a few seconds before sucking in enough air to talk. “Y-yeah,” he said without any real conviction. Honestly, he couldn’t feel his legs right now.

Ray harrumphed. He withdrew his hands and spoke to someone else. “Can you help him up?”

There was a sound of agreement and suddenly big hands were sliding under Michael’s arms and physically just lifting him off the ground in one disorientating movement. The redhead scrabbled for something to grab onto but only succeeding in making the toilet lid fall back down.

“Stop, stop,” Jack said tightly, holding Michael at arms length so his flailing arms didn’t accidentally hit him. Michael calmed at the sound of his lover’s deep voice and got his feet under him, his knees shaking. “Can you stand on your own?”

“Yeah,” Michael said stubbornly. His stomach churned, but there was nothing more to throw up, thank god. How embarrassing would it be to puke on Ray or Jack? He’d never hear the end of it.

Ray said something to Jack in a low tone, and Jack’s hands didn’t let go. Good thing, too, because Michael’s legs refused to stay stable if he put weight on them. “Alright,” Ray said with finality. Michael looked at him, the vision of the dark-haired man blurry and unfocused, but he could see how stressed Ray was looking. Ray looked at him, brown eyes catching his gaze and holding it. “Where are your glasses?”

“I – I don’t know,” Michael stammered, head spinning. He had to work hard to keep from looking at his shoes. His face felt as if someone had lit it on fire.

Ray sighed. “You’re coming home with us, to Geoff’s house,” he said clearly, making sure that Michael understood. “And we’re going to sleep it off. And we’re going to talk in the morning.”

Michael let out a long, mournful groan, hanging his head. Jack readjusted his grip on Michael’s underarms as they edged out of the stall.

“But not now,” Ray continued. “You’re way too drunk to even make sense.”

“’M not drunk,” Michael said as they began to move. No one was listening to him.

Jack helped him out of the bathroom and into the main bar, where it was beginning to fill with the more rowdy crowd. Michael distantly surmised it must’ve been late, late at night for the wild, druggie college students hopped up on ecstasy to come out of their cardboard boxes. The bar wasn’t so much of a bar now, more of a club, with loud, pounding music and obnoxious flashing lights. Bodies were pressed against each other in a sensual dance as they moved in tangled synchrony.

A pair of arms wrapped around his neck in a brisk hug before pulling away. Cold hands cradled his face, forcing Michael to stare into familiar green eyes.

“What’s wrong with you, you donut?” Gavin scolded, brow furrowed.

Michael bubbled out some random gibberish, but Gavin’s face was gone before he could finish.

He blinked and found himself strapped into Geoff’s van, head propped up against the window as he slumped over in his chair, eyes blearily following the yellow streetlights as they passed. It was quiet in the car as they drove home. Michael wondered if anyone else had gotten completely shitfaced. His side hurt as it rubbed against the seatbelt.

“C’mon, Michael,” he could hear Ryan say softly as they unlatched him from the seat and pulled him from the car. Two pairs of hands stabilized him on his feet and guided him up the steps. They reached the door after what felt like hours of stumbling.

The rest was messy and disjointed. He felt someone brushing his teeth for him, someone taking off his shoes, and someone laying him gently into bed, thankfully putting his aching head on a pillow.

He couldn’t remember falling asleep.

—-

Someone was slapping his cheek, little baby taps that didn’t hurt but effectively roused him from his deep, almost coma-like state. He blinked up at the ceiling in confusion, his stomach empty and gurgling. His eyes had a painful twinge every few seconds, and his head felt like it was about to roll off and onto the floor.

 “ – a big baby. Can’t even handle one night at the bar,” joked a gentle voice above him. It was Ryan, a humor-filled lilt to his voice. His hand was soft against Michael’s cheek.

“Not a baby,” Michael breathed, nuzzling into the touch.

Ryan pulled his hand away with a tsk. “You’re lucky Ray has such good luck with guessing,” he said. “We had to go into the stall blind.”

“It wasn’t such a lucky guess,” Ray said. Michael glanced over to see him sitting next to Ryan on the bed. “I just followed the stench of  _liar._ ”

Michael winced, but obstinately kept his mouth closed. He could feel his pulse in his throat as they sat in silence. He closed his eyes.

Finally, Michael couldn’t take it. In a small voice, he asked, “Are you going to break up with me?”

When neither of the two answered, he cracked an eye open to peer at them. They looked stunned.

“What?” Ryan said blankly.

“Why would you think that?” Ray asked. To Michael’s shock, he slid his hand to grab Michael’s, intertwining their fingers together and squeezing.

“I – I –” Michael sputtered. He glanced down to see that he was still wearing his Mark Nutt shirt and jeans. They didn’t know, they didn’t fucking know.

“No, you idiot!” Gavin said from the doorway. He looked upset, standing there rigid and clenching his fists. He looked at Ray and Ryan. “Answer him! Tell him he’s being stupid!”

Ray and Ryan glanced at each other. “You are being stupid,” Ryan agreed, shrugging. He gave a weak smile, brushing Michael’s cheek with his thumb.

“Boys are so dumb,” Ray said, rolling his eyes. His fingers tightened around Michael’s. “Please. Like we could break up with you.”

Michael’s insides fluttered happily at the words. “Oh,” he said meekly, squeezing Ray’s hand back. “Okay.”

Gavin crawled onto the bed and curled up into Michael’s side, wrapping an arm around the other’s waist. Michael’s skin jumped when Gavin’s arm brushed against the collection of lacerations. “Don’t be stupid,” Gavin muttered, burying his nose into Michael’s stomach, dangerously and unknowingly close to the cuts. “We love you.”

Michael smiled, knowing how hard it was for the Brit to say it aloud. He was carding a partially numb hand through Gavin’s hair when the bed dipped suddenly with a newly added weight. He glanced to the foot of the bed to see a zombie-looking Jack dragging himself under the sheets. Michael giggled to himself and curled his legs around the bearded man’s, hearing him grunt.

Jack was probably a worse cuddler than Gavin. Instead of sharing the warmth and settling for simply touching in bed, Jack would grab you and pull you against the expanse of his body, his heat suffocating and love almost overwhelming.  _Well,_ Michael thought as he inhaled deeply,  _maybe that makes him the best cuddler._

Ray and Ryan eventually joined the small snuggle-fest, though Michael was sure it was well into the day. This is why it took probably Geoff almost ten minutes to realize that everyone had migrated back to the bedroom.

The tattooed man looked like death walking, hung-over and sleepy as he slithered into a nice little spot between Michael and Gavin, pushing the Brit over so Geoff could place his chin on the top of Michael’s head. His little puffs of breath were warm in Michael’s hair.

“We have to have a talk,” Geoff said quietly when everyone else had drifted off. Michael’s eyes were heavy, even as Geoff spoke the words. “We were all so worried.”

“Sorry,” Michael mumbled, pushing his cold nose into Geoff’s chest and breathing deeply.

“Don’t do that again,” Geoff continued, his voice quivering but demanding.

Michael was tired of lying. “I’ll try not to.”  _No promises._

Geoff just hugged him closer. Michael knew Geoff wasn’t happy with his answer, but as of that moment, it didn’t matter. They fell asleep at the same time.


End file.
